


Hijacked

by all_my_dreams_and_ambitions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angst, Anxiety, Bartender Dean, Depression, M/M, Mechanic Dean, PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Protective Sam, Suicide, Writer Castiel, big brother gabe, ex angel castiel, ex hunter dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_my_dreams_and_ambitions/pseuds/all_my_dreams_and_ambitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wakes up in the middle of the woods severely injured and unable to remember anything but his name. A small hot-headed woman finds him and they fall in love. Years later, Castiel's life falls apart when Meg dies. Now, he's a successful author writing down these strange dreams he has and everything goes wrong when he stops to rest in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. </p><p>Dean is pulled out of Hell, but doesn't remember his life as a hunter. He believes his father was a bounty hunter and that's why they had to hop from motel to motel. To him, there is no such thing as monsters, angels, or demons. Sam, upon learning this information is determined to keep the hunter life a secret from Dean to give him a chance at a normal life. Well, Dean's "normal" life is shattered when a disgruntled author shows up in Sioux Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

Prologue Part I

            Everything _hurt_. He didn’t dare open his eyes because even that simple movement would hurt him even more.

            His skin was burnt, blisters and scabs covered the reddened flesh. His lips were cracked and bleeding, he couldn’t even wet them with his tongue. His right arm was twisted and mangled underneath him, sending pulses of pain up his shoulder and neck with every beat of his heart. But his back, oh his back, it hurt the worst. It felt like somebody had tried to surgically remove his spine without any anesthetic.

            Still, he was thirsty. _So_ thirsty. His tongue was swollen in his mouth and he couldn’t even swallow because there was no lubricant to make his throat work.

            He needed water or he was going to die.

            Although, dying would be a sweet release from this agony.

            Still, he wasn’t ready to die yet.

            He cracked open an eye, the burned skin on his eyelids pinching and pulling.

            Where was he? He didn’t know. What was he doing in the middle of the woods? He didn’t have the answers to that question either.

            Who was he?

            _Castiel_.

            The name didn’t mean anything to him, although he was sure it was his. He didn’t know who called him that, but his brain kept whispering it to him. _Castiel, Castiel._

            The man climbed to his feet, groaning in agony as he did so. Then, he cradled his broken arm in his good hand and limped through the woods.

            Water. He needed water.

            He didn’t know which way to go, but any direction was a good start.

            Each step he took had him screaming through clenched teeth, until it hurt too much to even do that. So, he blocked out the pain and trudged on.

            There had to be water somewhere.

            The woods started to thin. It turned to brush and brambles that slapped at his blistered and bloody skin and made him want to curl up in a ball to die.

            _Castiel_.

            He couldn’t just give up. If it was thinning out there had to be something close that he could use to find help.

            After one last agonizing push through the thorns, he found himself standing on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere.

            Roads were good. They led to civilization. Civilization meant water to sustain life.

            He walked along the gravel road. The stones digging into his bare feet went unnoticed in comparison to the pain in the rest of his body.

            A blue rusty pickup came cruising down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust as it came.

            A person! They could have water!

            He stepped into the road and tried to hail the truck.

            _Castiel_.

            It was coming at him a reckless speeds and he raised on arm in a painful plea for the vehicle to halt.

            The girl behind the wheel slammed on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel to avoid hitting him. When the truck came to a halt, she got out and slammed the door.

            Her brown hair fell wildly into her face and although she was short she managed to be intimidating. “What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road, you freak?!” She shouted at him, “I almost hit you, dumb—” Her insult fell short when she noticed the state of the man in front of her. “What happened to you?”

            “I…” he croaked, his voice raw from having no water. “I need w-water.”

            “Fuck that,” she said looking him up and down with brown eyes. “You need the goddamned hospital.”

 

                                                            Prologue Part II

 

            Sam stared at the book on Hellish lore for what had to have been the three-hundredth time over the past three months. He could read it until his eyes bled, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Dean was gone and he wouldn’t be coming back.

            The youngest Winchester was lost.

            Was he supposed to go back to school or did he keep hunting? He just didn’t know what to do with himself.

            He was just grateful that Bobby was letting him stick around until he figured what the hell he was supposed to do with himself.

            The front door banged open and Sam lifted his head, expecting Bobby. But, the older man was in the kitchen in the process of making a sandwich for lunch. So, Sam expected to see Ellen or Jo once he shut the book and lifted his head.

            “Sam?”

            That voice stopped him cold. What was Dean doing here?

            Apparently, Dean’s voice had the same effect on Bobby because he heard something glass break in the kitchen.

            He swallowed as he realized that it probably wasn’t Dean. It was probably a demon wearing his brother as a skin condom. He picked up the demon blade and stood up, hiding it at his side as he rounded the corner.

            When he saw Dean, he couldn’t breathe.

            His brother was covered in dirt and he looked extremely pissed.

            “Dean, what are you doing here?” A riot of emotions assaulted him. How was he supposed to feel knowing his brother was probably a demon? He wanted to feel relief seeing Dean standing there, but he also felt doubt. After all, he did hold his older brother in his arms as he died.

            “What the hell?” Dean asked, scowling up at him, “I’ve been gone for three fucking months and you couldn’t even call me? God, I know we left on shitty terms, but you hold a grudge worse than a woman.”

            Confusion was the emotion that Sam felt most dominantly now. What was Dean talking about? Did he forget that he sold his soul and was killed by a hellhound and dragged to Hell kicking and screaming?

            Bobby brushed past Sam, his body tense and the skin around his eyes tight as he handed Dean an open beer. His brown eyes were a little watery, but they were keen as he watched the previously deceased hunter down half the beer in one go.

            It had holy water in it.

            Silence passed between the three of them as Sam and Bobby waited for Dean to start smoking and screaming as the holy water hurt his demonic being.

            It didn’t happen.

            So, Dean wasn’t a demon. Why was he back from Hell?

            “Well shit, I’m tired of walking.” Dean plopped his ass on the musty couch and propped his feet on Bobby’s coffee table.

            “Are you okay?” Sam asked tentatively. “I mean, I’ve seen you pretend like everything’s okay before.”

            “Like when?”

            “When dad died.”

            Dean seemed to consider it while he mouthed at the lip of the beer bottle. Finally, he said, “Dad died from a heart attack after working a case. The bastard nearly got away, but dad managed to catch him.”

            “What?”

            “Y’know, the private investigator business really had dad riled up after mom died. It sent him to his grave.”

            Bobby exchanged a look with Sam. It was obvious both of them were asking the same question. _What was going on_?

            “ ‘Private investigating’ is that what you call it?”

            “Well, dad did the best he could dropping us from motel to motel to keep us safe from those assholes he went after. It was a tough life but we managed.”

            “People…dad hunted people?”

            Dean cringed at Sam’s use of the word ‘hunted’. “I mean, he was a bounty hunter but it’s not like he killed anybody.”

            Okay…Dean was definitely not talking about the same man.

            “You’re talking about _John Winchester_ , right?” Bobby asked Dean just to clarify.

            Dean rolled his eyes, “yes!”

            So, Dean didn’t know anything about being a hunter. He had no idea that the supernatural beings they had spent their entire life hunting even existed.

            “You guys are acting to weird,” the green eyed young man said as he set his beer bottle down, “I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.”

            Sam watched him go, still in somewhat of a shock that his brother was home.

            Once they were alone, Bobby turned to him. “What the hell did you do?” There was barely contained rage in his voice.

            If it hadn’t been for the weird-ass day he’d been having, he would have flinched at the tone. Bobby sounded angrier than the time he and Dean had taken ball bats to a hornet’s hive in one of the cars that needed scrapped. They had both been stung at least a dozen time.

            “I didn’t do anything,” Sam said honestly.

            “You sold your soul to bring him back, didn’t you?”

            “ _What_? No!”

            The truth was, Sam had tried to do that weeks ago but it was a failure. No crossroads demon wanted to barter to bring Dean back. They all said that Dean deserved to be dead, which hurt.

            “You swear, boy?”

            “Yes, Bobby. I-I’ve tried that before. No demon would take me.”

            The hurt in Bobby’s eyes was tough to look upon. The old man cleared his throat and said, “Dean doesn’t seem to remember that he’s a hunter.”

            “Maybe his time in Hell rearranged his brain or something.”

            “Maybe. Who knows what kind of whacked-out shit goes on downstairs.”

            “Bobby,” Sam swallowed as he came to a decision. “This is a new beginning for Dean. He doesn’t remember being a hunter and, honestly, I think it’s for the best. He finally has a chance at a normal life.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't as long as I'd like to be, but I'm hoping their length will increase.   
> Also, it is super un-beta'ed.   
> If anybody is interested in being my Beta, let me know!  
> WARNING: Descriptions of suicide, mentions of alcoholism, and PTSD.

            Typically, Castiel would rather be sitting on a plane instead of driving all of the way from Seattle to his home in Pontiac, but what he really had needed was time to clear his mind and settle down after the eventful weekend he’d had.

            His most recent (and successful) novel, _Raising Hell_ was being adapted into a movie. Sure, Castiel was excited about it. He wouldn’t have dreamt this turn of events up in a million years.

            The novel itself had come from a series of dreams he had that didn’t make any sense. So, Castiel had started to write them down and once he had Meg read them, she had told him that he should turn the dreams into a book. So, that’s what he’d done.

            His literary agent was a slimy man with a crush on Castiel named Dick Roman. He had absolutely insisted that in order to promote the film Castiel had to do a tour of book signings across the country. The previous one had been in Seattle and the reason Castiel was driving home to settle his mind was that he didn’t do well interacting with the public.

            Which, was why his profession of choice required him to sit alone in his big, empty house writing and drinking his way through a bottle of jack as the night wore on.

            Despite the fact that he told Dick that he absolutely had not wanted any part in the book signings, he’d ended up going anyway. What could he say? Dick was a very persistent (and most of the time annoying) man. Plus, he did want the film to be successful. Not only was his reputation as an author on the line, but so were the jobs of dozens of people involved in the project. If making sure everybody got a paycheck at the end of the day was helped by Castiel going to book signings, he knew the best thing for him to do was to grit his teeth and just do it.

            It was a thirty hour drive as straight as the crow flies from Seattle to Pontiac. That was an awfully long time for him to be trapped in a car with no one but himself for company because everything he did related to _her_. No matter where his thought process was heading, it was always derailed when it came to Meg.

            Now, if he were in the comforts of his own home, the pain that accompanied the thought of his ex-wife wouldn’t be such a hard thing to handle. He would have just solved his problems by drinking until he passed out.

           He couldn’t do that here. Drinking and driving was reckless and endangered everybody else on the road.

            He wasn’t about to have someone else killed due to his carelessness. One death on his hands was enough.

            He let out a shaky sigh and gripped the steering wheel of the car tighter.

            Dick, who had a home in Seattle had been kind enough to let Castiel borrow his car as long as Castiel shipped it back in the same shape he’d received it in.

            The author was thankful for his agent’s kindness and the car _was_ pretty sweet. Being a Porsche 918 Spyder, it had a lot more speed and horsepower than anything Castiel had ever driven before. It had been hard to get used to the touchy throttle at first but, with a speed limit of eighty-five on the interstate, the car was starting to grow on him.

            Part of him wanted to go home and returned to the familiarity he had there. Only a small part, however. The rest of him was dreading it.

            That was the house Meg had died in.

            God, did he miss her.

            She’d found him when he’d woken up in the woods only knowing his name. She’d taken him to the hospital, where they’d treated the burns on his skin, his broken arm, and the pair of lacerations running in a parallel lines down his back.

            Afterwards, they’d stayed close and then she had asked him on a date. Castiel hadn’t refused. He’d grown fond of her over the course of their time together. That singular date had turned into a relationship, and the relationship to an engagement.

            It hadn’t gone any further than that. The depression had taken her before they could get married.

            It killed him to think of what they could’ve been.

            He’d done his best to keep her happy, to help her through the bouts of depression that the medication hadn’t been able to help. That day, he should have known that she was having a rough time and stayed home instead of going out for a run. If he hadn’t gone out, he wouldn’t have been stopped by Mrs. Smith and he wouldn’t have been stuck talking to her for an extra half an hour.

            He could still see her lying in the cooling pink-tinged water of the bathtub, her dark hair surrounding her like a black halo under the red-tinged water. She had looked tragically beautiful in the tight black dress she’d worn to the prize ceremony for the second book he’d published.

            He could take this time now to notice the little details like that.

            At the time, he’d come home to water running under the door of the master bathroom and onto the hardwood floor of their bedroom. He’d known something was drastically wrong almost immediately. Still, he’d pounded on the door before using all of his strength to kick it open.

            When he saw her lying in the tub with gaping gashes in her wrists, he hadn’t been able to breathe.

            It had been like he’d watched the entire scene from someone else’s point of view.

            He’d rushed to the tub, nearly slipping on the wet tiles of the bathroom floor. He’d grabbed her body and shook her, he tried to give CPR, but it was too late. She was gone.

            He hadn’t been the same since.  

            After that, he’d cleaned up the mess in the bathroom in a numb emotional state. Then, he’d shut the door and hadn’t opened it since.

            He hardly slept in the large bed in the master bedroom either. Most nights he ended up passed out at his desk with the help of a bottle of whiskey.

            It wasn’t until a semi hauling cattle passed him, that Castiel realized he was practically shaking behind the wheel.

            He couldn’t do it.

Castiel pulled the car over on the widest strip of berm he could find that I-80 had to offer, opened the door to Dick’s fancy car, and hardly got his seatbelt unbuckled in time before he was retching up the Burger King he’d grabbed about thirty exits back.

            It was even worse tasting the second time.

            When he was certain that he couldn’t vomit anymore and he realized he’d gotten some puke on his tie, he loosened it and took it off before throwing it into the backseat with the rest of his stuff.

            Standing next to the too-expensive, fancy car on the side of the interstate in South Dakota, with the hot wind kicking up the stench of every cow pasture in the god forsaken state, Castiel decided that he could not go back home to his empty house and face the ghosts that waited for him there. He needed a vacation from the emptiness. He needed to spend some time on his own in a place that didn’t haunt him.

            So, he climbed back into the Porsche and took the next exit to a tiny place called Sioux Falls.

            When he got out of the car at a no-star motel across from a dive of a bar, he decided that he was going to spend a few days here while he pulled himself back together enough to face his demons. Three days, he decided, no more than that.


	3. Chapter 3

            Dean enjoyed the simple life he had.

            He spent most days tinkering in the garage with Bobby and then his nights tending the bar at the Roadhouse with Ellen, Jo, Ash, and Benny.

            By saying he enjoyed it, he didn’t necessarily mean that he didn’t hope that something would come and totally shake his world. Every day in Sioux Falls was basically the same as the only one before. The only thing he had to look forward to was hooking up with the college chicks in town and hoping Sam would come home from his hot-shot lawyer stuff long enough for them to spend some quality brother-time together.

            Sometimes, he had to admit that he was jealous of Sam. He wasn’t stuck in some one-horse town chasing his tail. He was out solving cases and getting paid big money for the job that he did. It sounded _way_ more fulfilling than shaking cocktails for a flirty group of girls across the bar from him.

            Well, in a non-sexual sense anyway.

            Dean had to admit, that if he had gone the same route as his younger brother and went off to college somewhere, he would have missed his friends.

            There was a certain sense of family between Bobby, himself, and the roadhouse crew that he felt he couldn’t get anywhere else. Even the tension between Benny and Jo could be overlooked most of the time.

            He didn’t know what the hot-headed blonde’s problem was with the Louisiana man. He was hell of a cook on that grill and could make burgers so delicious they would make a nun moan in the middle of a Sunday service.

            Dean counted out the ounces as he poured a mix of liquors into a shaker. He made sure the seal was tight before he started to shake it.

            The group of young women across the polished bar from him were all watching him with their best hooded eyes. Some even went as fast as to lean forward enough to give him a decent shot of cleavage.

            He appreciated it.

            Dean shot the girls a grin and a wink before he started to pour the pink cocktail into three glasses for them. He might end up sleeping above the Roadhouse tonight. Bobby didn’t particularly like it when Dean brought girls home. Most were overly vocal, like sex was a porno or something.

            The bartender had to admit that he mostly flirted for tips and sexcapades were not as frequent as most people tended to think that he had them.

            Out of the corner of his eye he watched a girl sit down.

            He slid the last glass towards the blonde girl and then leaned over to speak to the girl. “What can I get for you sweetheart?”

            As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean realized his grave mistake. That was _not_ a woman. The man across from him had a heavy layer of stubble alone his well-defined jaw, dark circles under his eyes, and a tousled mess of brown hair.

            “Sorry,” Dean said clearing his throat in an attempt to not look like such a loser.

            The blue-eyed man seemed amused by the bartender’s slip-up. He licked his lips and gave a small smile, “No problem _sweetheart_ you can make up for it by getting me a whiskey.”

            Dean turned his back to the man to grab a bottle off the shelf.

            From the stranger’s garb, he was not a local. Nobody in Sioux Falls wore a dirty trench coat and they certainly didn’t wear a suit and tie after five p.m.

            “Why don’t you leave the bottle,” the man suggested.

            Normally, Dean wouldn’t do that. It was easier to monitor the amount still in the bottle and the customer’s pay-per-drink ratio if he poured it himself. Still, the other guy looked pretty rough around the edges.

            “Sure thing.”

            The green eyed man started to rinse and wash glasses in the speedwell almost directly across the bar from the out-of-towner. After all, you couldn’t pour drinks without any glassware. After a few glances to the other man, Dean decided to strike up a conversation. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe it would do the guy some good to get whatever was weighing him down off his chest.

            “What brings you to town?”

            The stranger sets down his empty glass, his eyes focusing on Dean with that amused twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

            “Well, it’s a small town. Strangers are easily spotted.”

            “You probably know every face in this bar.”

            “All but yours.”

            “I’m just passing through.” He picked up the bottle and started to pour himself another glass. “I’m on my way home from a work thing.”

            “Ah, work things.” He said it like he knew what the other man was talking about. The only “work things” he really had to deal with was travelling from Bobby’s to the Roadhouse. All three miles.

            The man finished his second glass and started to fill up his third.

            “Where are you from?”

            “Pontiac, Illinois.”

            Dean was pretty impressed. He couldn’t really think of anywhere that required the man to be in a suit between the two states and he decided that the man was some bigshot for a company somewhere.

           Maybe he could get those tips without even trying.

            “Did you grow up there?” He asked.

            The man frowned and threw back the rest of his drink. He swallowed and contemplated the empty contents with a crease between his brows. “I guess,” he finally said.

            Dean raised a brow in question, but turned his attention away from him to fetch Jo a beer for a group of guys at a booth along the back wall. From the sounds of it, she was trying to convince them to play a game of pool with her.

            Still, Dean supposed he could relate to the other man a little bit. John’s bounty hunting career had forced them to move from motel-to-motel. The only real sense of home he had had been right here in Sioux Falls. He supposed that’s why he stayed.

            It was obvious that the man had developed a high tolerance somewhere. He was putting back glass after glass of whiskey like it was water. How many had it been?

            The blue eyes locked with Dean’s green ones and the man held up a finger and fished out his wallet in his back pocket, practically losing his balance on the cracked pleather barstool as he did so. He opened it and pulled out a fifty, sliding it across the bar towards Dean.

            Dean stared down at it, nearly open-mouthed. Was this guy—Castiel Novak from the look of his driver’s license—serious? Fifty dollars for two-thirds of a bottle of whiskey seemed a little excessive.

            “That’s your tip,” Castiel announced a little loudly.

            Dean picked it up and put the money in the cash register before he turned back towards the patron.

            Part of him knew that he had _never_ seen this man before in his entire life. Somewhere deep inside of him _insisted_ that they had seen each other at one point in time. For the life of him, Dean couldn’t place his face.

            “Have we ever met before?”

            The man swirled the rest of his liquor in the glass as he said, “What’s your name again?”

            “Dean Winchester.”

            “Dean Winchester,” the man seemed to taste the name on his tongue before swallowing the rest of his drink. He squinted at him in the dim lighting of the bar before saying, “No. I would…I would remember a face like _yours_.”

            Dean raised his brows in shock at the comment. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or flustered by Castiel’s admittance. He rubbed the back of his reddening neck as he scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him look like a jackass. “You’re right,” he blurted, “I would have remembered eyes like yours.”

            He realized what he said and let out a quiet _fuck_ under his breath before he purposely turned away from Castiel to make himself look busy with anything that would keep him from making eye-contact with the other man.

            Why did he say that?!

            He fumbled for an excuse in his head, nearly dropping an expensive bottle of vodka as he set it back on the shelf.

            _I flirt for tips_ , suddenly was the only logical thought he had in his enormously thick head.

            The thought was instantly relaxing and Dean decided that yeah, he’d said it out of habit to get good tips.

            He hoped it wasn’t blatantly obvious that he avoided the other man like he was carrying Ebola for ten straight minutes. He found things to do behind the bar that weren’t centered on the blue eyed man with a sky-high tolerance.

            “Winchester, it’s time for your break.”

            He looked up and saw Jo counting twenties before stuffing them in her pocket.

            She shot a grin at the men who were getting ready to leave the bar. “They should know better than to play me in pool by now. I hustled their asses from here to next Tuesday.”

            Dean couldn’t help but grin at her. He _had_ taught her everything she knew about pool and how to properly hustle somebody. He couldn’t help but be at least a little bit proud of her for her good work. “Way to go. I’m going on my break.”

            Dean clapped her on the back, shooting one last look at the very drunk man that Dean had accidentally flirted with not once, but twice.

            He was glad to be out of that stuffy bar.

            The night air was cool on his warm skin, causing goosebumps to ripple on his freckled arms. On the porch he could hear the cicadas chirping in the tall grass in the field next to the bar. Across the street at the motel, the neon light on its sign was flickering half-heartedly.

            Dean was relishing the silence when the door of the bar busted open.

            Under the dim porch-light he could see the trench-coated man stumbling towards him. Clearly, even people with a high tolerance could get wasted.

            Castiel almost did a face plant and he managed to catch the stranger just in time to keep him from falling completely over.

            “Whoa there, you’re pretty drunk.”

            His blue eyes locked on Dean and he squinted through the darkness. He took a heavy step towards the other man, his coat smelling like cigarette smoke and grease from the deep fryer.

            Dean took a step back, trying to distance him from the unrelenting approach of the drunk man. After just a few steps, he found himself backed against the porch railing of the bar.

            Castiel’s eyes seemed to have a laser-like focus on Dean’s lips. “Lips…” he muttered incoherently, “never met a…I didn’t like.”

            Dean leaned as far away from him as he could before he ended up toppling over the railing.

            Ellen would kill him if it got busted again.

            “They’re so… _soft_.”

            “Um, yeah?” He didn’t know what Castiel was talking about but it was starting to freak him out how close his mouth was getting to his.

            He should have seen it coming, but the other man’s lips sealing against his own had Dean stunned.

            Acting on instinct, Dean’s right fist curled into a ball and he swung at the man kissing him.

            The drunken man took a shocked step back, his mouth opening and closing as he registered what had happened. He brought up a hand touched his left eye, his stunned eyes never leaving Dean’s face. Then, he whirled and half-ran, half-stumbled across the street to the motel and vanished.

            In disbelief, Dean went inside and tried to resume his normal job behind the bar.

            “What’s wrong with you kiddo?” Ellen asked, leaning against the bar. She had her concerned-mother face on and Dean didn’t want to worry her over something as stupid as a kiss.

            “You know that strange guy that was here earlier?”

            “The one with the iron liver?”

            “Yeah that one. He _kissed_ me, Ellen. Like, he was super drunk and laid one on me. Right on the lips!”

            She laughed and clapp


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! They're greatly appreciated. And I don't want you all to fret because the Destiel will be strong in the next chapter. Also, comments are appreciated as well! They really just keep me driving to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

            Castiel woke up to a pounding head and a nauseated stomach.

            Waking up with a hangover is nothing unfamiliar to him, but the pulsing pain behind his left eye _is_ something that was unusual.

            To pull himself together, he laid in bed for a good twenty minutes as he tried not to throw up and he did his best remember what he did differently the previous night that warranted such a sharp pain in his head.

            He was drawing blanks.

            Sure, he’d drank at an unfamiliar bar but he hadn’t drank anything that he wasn’t used to. So, obviously it wasn’t the liquor.

            He was stumped and there was no use trying to put the skewed puzzle pieces of the mystery together when his bladder was so painfully full that he couldn’t concentrate.

            It was shameful to admit that he considered wetting the bed for the first time since his childhood instead of forcing himself to get up and go to the bathroom. But, he was an adult and adults didn’t do that kind of thing. With a groan, he made himself get out of bed and head to the tiny bathroom that shared his motel room.

            He passed the mirror in the bathroom and saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him back pedal to peer at his reflection.

            “God dammit,” he cussed as he prodded at the swollen purple and black bruise around his blue eye. “What the hell happened last night? Who did I piss off?”

            He didn’t know and he was in no condition to strain his brain to find out. What he really needed was a hot shower and some breakfast to help him clear his head.

            He turned on the water, wincing as the pipes squealed in protest. The lukewarm water spat from the calcified showerhead and Castiel started to strip out of his clothes.

            He paused when he caught the reflection of his scarred back in the mirror. He twisted to look over his shoulder and study the pink scars that ran from between his shoulder blades all the way to his lower back.

            He was used to seeing them by now, but it was always a wake-up call to realize that he could have died years ago.

            He always wondered what he’d done to piss somebody off so badly that they ripped open his back and left him for dead. Whatever it was, it had to have been bad.

            As he steps into the warm spray of the shower, he can still hear Meg speaking to the doctor just outside of his room in the hospital. “ _He should be dead. I can’t believe he’s still alive.”_

_“Yes, it’s a miracle that you got him here in time.”_

_“Whoever did this to him must really hate him.”_

_“The police didn’t find anyone who matches his description missing or running from the law.  It’s crazy, he basically doesn’t exist.”_

            Castiel had spent six weeks in intensive care before he was released. After that, Meg offered to let him stay with her in her apartment because he was unemployed and had no idea who he was.

            Their relationship began to grow and after six months, he’d bought a house. Four after that, they became engaged, and eighteen months later she left him.

            He showered and took extra care to wash the cigarette smoke out of his hair and the stench of alcohol off his skin.

            Once he was dried and dressed, he gathered up his laptop and decided to go on a search for somewhere he could have breakfast and more importantly, coffee.

            On his drive through the town in search of food, he decided that Sioux Falls was a boomerang town. People who probably always wanted to leave had never gotten around to it, and those who tried to leave found themselves coming back for whatever reason. It was like the towns seen in every single Hallmark movie ever produced.

            It wasn’t hard to find a diner in such a small town. It was nestled among a strip of small shops on Main Street. It was an aesthetically pleasing building made of brick with a big glass window in the front. The only thing marring the perfect picture was a couple of guys on scaffolding nailing on shingles.

            Castiel parked Dick’s car out front and locked the doors before he went inside and let the smell of bacon grease and coffee wash over him.

            He slid himself onto a stool at the counter and opened his computer. He opened a blank Microsoft Word document and stared at the blank page. He waited for some sort of inspirational piece to hit him so he could start his newest novel.

            There was nothing. There was no epiphany for him to create a literary masterpiece. The only thing that came to him was a waitress who wanted to know if he’d like a drink.

            Castiel didn’t get discouraged. Novels took time and in his defense, it was hard to get a good idea when the thuds from the men working on the roof were causing his head to throb with every blow of the hammer.

            “Sorry for the noise,” the red-headed waitress named Charlie (according to her nametag) said as she set his coffee cup in front of him. “We were getting a pretty nasty leak in kitchen.”

            “It’s a necessary evil,” Castiel told her as he stirred some sugar into his coffee.

            The waitress leaned over the counter, taking particular interest in his laptop. “Are you playing WOW?”

            “What?”

            “World of Warcraft?” She seemed a little disappointed, “It’s a game. Sorry for butting in.”

            “Oh, no problem.” He took a sip of his coffee and nearly burned his lips. “No, I’m not playing a game. I’m, uh, working.”

            She curled her lip at that and said, “that doesn’t sound like fun.”

            “My job isn’t that terrible.”

            “Huh,” she gave him one last look before saying, “your food should be out shortly.”

            He thanked her and went back to staring at the blinking cursor on his screen. Where should he go from here? He didn’t have any idea what to write about now. He’d been successful with two books, which is more than what many authors can say. Should he throw in the towel and pursue a career elsewhere?

            No. Nowhere he worked would tolerate him for very long. His people skills were rusty at best and his consumption of alcohol was astronomical.

            Well, maybe a sequel from _Raising Hell_ wouldn’t be a bad idea. He’d left the ending open to the reader’s interpretation, which would make it a good single book but it also meant that he could create a sequel if he wanted to.

            Maybe he should write about what happens after his main character gets pulled from Hell.

            So, that’s what he decided to do. There could be no harm in at least attempting to create a sequel before something better comes along.

            While he sipped his coffee, an idea hit him like a hundred pound weight in the chest. His protagonist would be hunted by the demons who had enslaved and tortured him in Hell. Being forced to defend himself would turn him into a demon hunter. Then, the reader would be able to learn all about what life in Hell had forced his protagonist to be.

            Once his food was placed in front of him, he set his laptop aside to focus his attention on eating.

            He was nearly finished with his two pancakes when his cellphone rang.

            Castiel lowered his fork back down to the plate and frowned. There was only one person who called him. It couldn’t have been anyone other than… “Hello, Dick.”

            “ _Castiel_ ,” the man said cheerily into the phone. Even at his best attempts to be companionable, Dick often came off as slimy and a little bit of a creep. “ _How is your trip going? I haven’t heard from you for a while, so I’d figure I would go ahead and check on you.”_

            “My trip is going well,” he answered as he twirled the handle of his fork. He watched the sticky strands of syrup stick from the almost-finished stack of pancakes to the bit that was on the end of the eating utensil.

            _“That’s great! How’s my car doing? Is she taking care of you?”_

He almost groaned because people who referred to their cars as if they were women cared way too much about their vehicles. Especially, if they spent a small fortune on them like Dick had. “The car is wonderful. Thank you for letting me borrow it to drive home. Do you mind if I stop for a few days?”

            _“Not at all! That’s a pretty long trip to make solo and if you need to take a few days to rest that’s fine. I’m just looking out for you, Champ!”_

 _That_ did make Castiel cringe. Dick was giving him a nickname like he was a ten year old learning how to play baseball for the first time. “Thank you. I appreciate your generosity.”

            _“Anytime! Hey, I just wanted to let you know that they got the budget for the movie. It’s great and allows us for extra wiggle room for any special affects we would need. I think it’s going to end up being a hit at box offices across the nation for sure!”_

Castiel made a sound of agreement.

            _“It’s going to be such an honor to work with Chuck Shurley on the production of this film, Castiel. He’s second to only Spielberg! With him taking the reins we can’t go wrong.”_

“Yes, I am thrilled to have him be a part of our project.” He meant it. Shurley was amazing at what he did, but the author was having a hard time sounding excited when his head was throbbing, he was eating breakfast, and Dick was annoying him. “I’m going to continue with my meal. I’ll speak with you later, Dick.”

            _“Okay, Cassie! Have a good one.”_

            “I will.”

            _“Hey, and take care of my car okay? She’s a special one.”_

“I will. Goodbye.”

            Castiel hung up the phone before his agent could prevent him from doing so again. After stuffing the iPhone in his pocket, he went back to eating his breakfast. He was a little annoyed that his pancakes had absorbed the syrup and they were soggy and his hash browns were cold. He supposed it was a sacrifice that had to be made at the expense of his career.

            He finished his breakfast, left Charlie a good tip, and was paying his check when a teeth-aching squeal of twisting metal and the crash of breaking glass sounded from right outside the diner.

            Along with the rest of the patrons, Castiel went to see what the commotion was about.

            He stared in horror when he saw the twisted silver metal of Dick’s Porsche smashed flat under the heavy scaffolding, which had fallen and landed right on the car. His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to form words, but he couldn’t make a coherent sentence.

            That was Dick’s car.

            His agent’s six figure car was now reduced to a pile of scrap metal.

            Dick was _in love_ with that car!

            What was he going to do?!

            A hand clapped him on the shoulder and he turned his head to meet the brown eyes of his red-headed waitress. “That’s rough, buddy. Luckily, for you, I know a couple of guys who are great with this kind of thing.”

            “I was supposed to leave tomorrow.”

            “They’re not _that_ good, but they’ll have her as good as new in no time. I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, this chapter isn't beta'd. 
> 
> Also, I think I promised Destiel in this chapter, but I was wrong. It's next chapter (I promise!). 
> 
> Thirdly, I appreciate all of the kudos but subscriptions and comments would really be helpful.

Breakfast at Bobby’s often consisted of not only Dean, but Jo, Ellen, and the grumpy old man himself.

            Ellen had made eggs, bacon, and toast and Dean was shoveling them in his mouth like they were going out of style. What could he say? The woman could cook.

            “How are you after what happened last night?” Ellen asked as she sat across from him with her refilled cup of coffee between her hands.

            “What happened last night?” Bobby asked. He lowered his newspaper and looked at Dean for an explanation.

            He _really_ didn’t want to talk about how he’d been smooched on by another guy. They would never let him live it down if he told them. Dean shot Ellen a hard look, telling her that he wished she’d kept her trap shut.

            “Don’t look at me like that, boy. You were pretty shaken up over it.”

            “Dean was on his break,” Jo piped up with a mouthful of bacon, “and some drunk guy came out and kissed him. Right on the lips. Dean’s face was _so_ red. You should have been there Bobby, it was hilarious!”

            Dean made a mocking laugh at her before flipping her off. “Shut up, Jo!”

            “You kiss a man?” Bobby asked skeptically.

            “No! He kissed _me._ For the record, he was drunk and could hardly walk in a straight line. I punched him in the face for laying one on me.”

            Bobby lets out a chuckle that sent blood straight to Dean’s ears. “Was he a looker?”

            Dean shook his head and stood up, pushing his chair in. He’s never kissed a guy before and although he’d definitely been caught admiring assets of certain men, it was still something totally foreign to him. Pushing his chair in, Dean said, “I’m going to change the oil in the impala.”

            “Don’t be such a sourpuss, we’re just picking on you!”

            “Can it.”

            Dean let the door slam to punctuate his statement.

* * *

 

           

            “Jo, I’m headin’ out to the store. Clean up this mess for Bobby before I get back.” Ellen looked at her daughter, one hand poised on the screen door. She was giving Jo the ‘ _I don’t need to tell you twice, do I?_ ’ look. It was one that had Ellen’s hand on her hip and her eyebrow cocked like a pistol.

            “Yes ma’am,” Jo answered as she took her cue to stand up from the table. “I’ll have the dishwasher running and everything.”

            “Good. I’ll be back soon.”

            She left her daughter to scrape the meager scraps from their breakfast into the trashcan and to rinse the dishes before plopping into Bobby’s ancient Kenmore dishwasher. It was one he’d bought at a yard sale five years ago. She didn’t complain because it was better than scrubbing the plates with her hands. Dean liked to put ketchup on his eggs and that was disgusting.

            While she was dropping the dishwasher tablet into the machine, a knock sounded at the front door. At first, Jo wasn’t sure if it was just the radio having a fit or if somebody was actually at the door.

            Nobody knocked at Bobby’s house. Everybody who had a right to be there often just barged right in without preamble.

            Jo shut the dishwasher and turning it on. She called out, “I’m coming!”

            She wasn’t exactly sure who she’d expected to be waiting at the door, but she wasn’t expecting Sheriff Jody Mills, one of the only authorities in Sioux Falls.

            Jody stood on the front porch, her hands resting at her belt. She looked like she was a bit sorry to be interrupting their morning and kind of like Jo’s mom looked when she was ready to scold some overly drunk men at the bar.

            “Jody, what’s going on?” Jo pushed open the screen door and stood in the doorway, a frown on her face.

            “Hey, Jo. I was running a little radar this morning and I caught Dean speeding on his way through town. Typically, I’d let it slide but he’s had his fair share of warnings. I’m going to have to write him a citation. Is he around?”

            The blonde’s frown deepened. As far as she could tell, Dean had been home all morning. She’d been here when he rolled his sorry ass out of bed for breakfast. She specifically remember _not_ checking him out as he meandered through the house in his boxers.

            “Sure, come in.” She stepped aside for the sheriff. “Dean’s in the garage. Have a seat at the table, pour yourself a cup of java and I’ll go grab him.”

            Since when did Jody not walk in and help herself? This entire situation screamed “not right” to her.

            Jody followed her through the cluttered living room and when Jo noticed she didn’t come off the cheap Persian rug on the floor her eyes widened.

            There was a devil’s trap under that rug. She knew because she’d helped Bobby paint it shortly after Dean had come home from Hell.

            “Is everything okay?” Jo asked her slowly. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end.

            “Y-Yeah,” Jody said looking around the house. She looked like she was trying to keep herself calm. “My inner mom is going nuts. I don’t like clutter.” The woman offered Jo a thin smile and Jo’s suspicions deepened.

            The girl licked her lips and with a shaky hand, pushed her hair back out of her face. “ _Christo_.”

            Jody’s head snapped up and met Jo’s gaze. Her eyes were completely black.

            The young hunter had anticipated that and it chilled her to the bone. If you had been a bystander you wouldn’t have been able to tell that she was shocked over the revelation that the woman was possessed. She lunged for the nearest vase filled with wilting flowers. Bobby, that paranoid old bastard, had filled each on with holy water.

            “What are you going to do?” The demon asked in a cynical tone that’d never been heard in Jody’s voice before. “C’mon, you know breaking that antique over my head isn’t going to do anything.”

            “I wasn’t going to.” With that, Jo thrust the holy water in the demon’s face.

            Nothing could ever compare to the sickening stench of sulfur that always accompanied the steaming fury of a doused demon. It nearly made her gag.

            She wished she’d paid more attention and maybe even studied her exorcism a little better because she wasn’t sure she could get through it. “ _Exorcizamus te, omins im-imundus spiritus, omins—ominus satanica po-pot—_ ”

            “ _No,_ ” the demon snarled in a voice that had come straight from the depths of Hell. It would surely give Jo nightmares.

            “ _Potestas, ominus incursio infern-n-infer—_ ”

            “You should have done your homework, little hunter.”

            Before Jo could register what the monster had said, her body was rocketing backwards by a force other than her own. Every bone in her body screamed in agony as she slammed against the bookshelf across the room. Her ears were ringing with the impact as she tried to dig herself out of the thick volumes of books that had rained down on her.

            The demon let out a laugh that sounded like it was coming from Lucifer himself.

            The screen door banged open and Bobby took one look at the scene before him and started the exorcism again.

            Jo managed to get out of the mess of books and picked up another decorative vase. She splashed holy water on the demon and the old man continued to chant.

            It didn’t take long for the demon to smoke out and Jody to collapse on the floor.

            “What the hell happened?” Bobby demanded.

            “Jody came in and it wasn’t her. She was possessed.” Jo touched the back of her head where it’d hit off one of the shelves in the bookcase. Her fingertips came back with a reddish tinge on them. She wiped it off on her jeans. She’d be okay, it was a long way from her heart.

            “Jesus.”

            Jody groaned and sat up. Her dark hair was falling out of its bun and she looked really dazed. “What the hell is going on here?”

            “There was a demon trying to get to Dean,” Jo explained. She knew Jody was no stranger to the situation at hand. It was one of the reasons they’d been so successful at keeping the man safe since his arrival from Hell. “It possessed you and tried to get to him wearing your body as a disguise.”

            Jody shuddered and stumbled to her feet. “I think I’m going to call the rest of the day off.”

            “I don’t blame you,” Bobby said. “Monsters and demons are coming from everywhere. They all want to get a piece of the infamous Dean Winchester. He killed a lot of them and their buddies want revenge.”

            “Does he know?”

            “No. He can’t know. He hasn’t been the same since his trip to the pit and Sam wants him to live a normal life. He doesn’t remember being a hunter.”

            “If this is normal, I don’t want any part of it.” Jody headed for the door and said, “Thanks for the help, guys. I just…I need to go home and take a couple of shots.” With that, the sheriff bid her farewells and headed back towards town.

            Jo pulled out her phone and punched number three on her speed dial.

            “ _Yeah_?”

            “ _Sam, it’s me.”_

_“Jo, what’s going on?”_ The concern in the youngest Winchester’s was the heaviest emotion from what she could hear. _“Is everything okay? Is Dean—”_

_“He’s fine,”_ Jo promised him. “ _Sam, it’s getting worse.”_

_“How?”_

_“One was wearing Jody and tried to come for him.”_

The screen door slammed and Dean stood, wiping his greasy hands on his stained jeans. “Come for who?” The green eyed man asked in confusion.

            “Nothing,” Jo said quickly.

            _“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”_

_“Bye, mom.”_ Jo hung up the phone and turned to Dean and said, “Mom and I found a stray cat the other night. Mrs. Johnson came for him. That’s all we were talking about.

            Something told her Dean didn’t quite believe her, but he let it go.

            “Dean,” Bobby said, “we got a call from Charlie. I guess somebody needs their car towed to the garage. Get in the truck, boy.”           

 

 

* * *

                                                             

 

            Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the diner where Charlie was a waitress. The car in question wasn’t hard to find. There was a silver Porsche smashed flat by some scaffolding that had been shoved aside in a heap on the sidewalk.

            Bobby got out to assess the damage and when Charlie moved out of the way, Dean nearly groaned. Because, staring right back at him was a familiar pair of blue eyes; one of which, was rimmed with an angry purple bruise.

            “Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as he dropped his head into his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The green eyes study his face briefly before lingering on the purple bruise around Castiel’s eye and recognition flashed on the man’s face instantly. Dean’s grin slowly dissipated.   
>  Oh god, the situation was even more awkward that he could have anticipated. The writer raised a hand and offered a small, unenthusiastic wave before dropping his hand back to his side. “Nice to see you again,” he said lamely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been updating as frequently as I'd like, but I've had a lot of work-drama. Thankfully, I'll be getting out of there soon. 
> 
> I also changed the title because I realized there is another popular fic out there titled "Amnesia" and I didn't want anybody to think I was stealing their work. Plus, the new title will make sense later.
> 
> Just a head's up that this chapter is not edited, so if you see any glaring errors please let me know. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy, comment, and subscribe!

            Castiel’s heart felt heavy as he watched the bearded mechanic winch Dick’s car onto the rollback.

            That was Dick’s “baby” and probably the only thing he cared for like a child. If he were ever to find out about this, he’d probably go off the deep end.

            He wasn’t sure if his agent would murder him or just jump off a bridge. Either way, the outcome looked bleak for both of them.

            At least Charlie sympathized with him a little, she stood at his side and shook her head. “It really was a sweet car. That’s too bad.”

            “Yeah,” he agreed. Too bad that it was going to send him into a premature mid-life crisis, too bad that it was going to cost thousands of dollars to fix, too bad that it would cause his agent to strike, too bad it would leave him without a career or a way home.

            An ungodly screech sounded from the back of the truck, causing Castiel to grimace. He focused his attention on the crotchety operator who yelled something like, “You’re going to need to let the wench in slower, idiot!”

            It was almost painful to watch the pancaked car slide up the tilt bed the rest of the way. So, Castiel looked away.

            He studied the cracks in the sidewalk in front of the quaint diner. He studied his gnawed-off fingernails and the scuffed toes of his dress shoes. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the looks of the townsfolk thinly disguising their amusement as sympathy.

            “She’s all strapped down, Bobby.” A voice called, getting closer with each word.

            Castiel’s head snapped up at the sound of that voice. He recognized that voice and he hardly caught a glimpse of sandy hair and freckled skin before he was hiding himself behind Charlie and among the crowd. Oh god, it was the bartender from the previous night! He ducked his head and did his best to hide himself.

            “Charlie, this isn’t just ‘ _some car_ ’ it’s a freakin’ Porsche! Who is the poor son of a bitch who drives that thing?” The voice was just a few feet away from him now.

            “Oh it’s some guy from out of town,” Charlie said. She stepped aside and pointed at Castiel.

            Grimacing, he lifted his head and offered a feeble wave to the bartender he’d tried to kiss the night before.

            The green eyes study his face briefly before lingering on the purple bruise around Castiel’s eye and recognition flashed on the man’s face instantly. Dean’s grin slowly dissipated.

            Oh god, the situation was even more awkward that he could have anticipated. The writer raised a hand and offered a small, unenthusiastic wave before dropping his hand back to his side. “Nice to see you again,” he said lamely.

            “Uh…yeah.”

            “Hey,” the older man in the ball cap said coming around the side of the tilt bed. “I ain’t payin’ you to stand around and make googly-eyes at the client. Let’s finish locking down the bed and get this thing back to the shop. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

            Much to his relief, the bartender turned and went back to work.

            “That pretty sweet ride is in sad shape to be leaving here like that.” The man told Castiel.

            “I know.”

            “What happened?”

            “I was eating breakfast and the scaffolding fell over and landed on the car. It’s…not even mine. I’m borrowing it from a friend.”

            “That’s rough, kid.”

            “Yeah, it is.”

            “Well,” Bobby looked from Castiel back to the truck briefly before turning his attention to the author again. “We can give you a ride to the garage and I’ll write up an estimate for you. That way you know how much it’s going to cost you. How’s that sound?”

            He nearly choked on his spit. That meant he was going to be trapped in a confined space with the man he’d tried to kiss the night before. He did not see it ending well for him. The awkwardness of the situation was going to be even more unbearable than it had been just moments before. What if Dean tried to talk to him about it?

            “Th-that sounds great, thank you.”

            He found himself in the front of the truck, between Bobby and Dean. The silence was thick and unbearable and the only safe place Castiel was able to retreat to, was his own head. He determined that he was going to have to pay out of pocket for the damage. It wasn’t going to be cheap, and he was certain Dick’s insurance company would have helped with the damage. Doing so, meant that Dick would have found out what happened. Castiel didn’t want that. In fact, that was the very thing he was trying to avoid.

            His bank account was going to feel this…and it wasn’t going to feel good.

            “How does your eye feel?” Dean finally asked over the quiet lull of the oldies station.

            Castiel at up a little straighter, realizing Dean had been talking to him. “Oh, um, it feels fine. It hurt a little this morning, but I’m okay now. I deserved it.”

            “You sure did.”

            Castiel groaned and put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair.

            Bobby stole glances at the two of them. “Dean, are you telling me this is the guy?” He let out an amused laugh, “You’re telling me this is the guy that kissed you?!”

            Castiel’s humiliating situation only got worse. He could feel the heat in his face getting hotter with each boisterous cackle of the driver.

            “Well, it could’ve been worse. You could have been kissed by an ugly guy.”

            This time, Dean groaned instead of Castiel before he rested his head against the window. “Shut up.”

            Even though he’d been heavily influenced by alcohol, that didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing for Cas. He’d been drunk and came onto the _painfully_ straight man sitting to his right. The worst part was that it hadn’t even been flirting. He’d actually _kissed_ the man.

             Meg would have found it hilarious.

            Even though the author found he was bisexual after sleeping with a few random people after Meg’s death, he didn’t see himself as a promiscuous person. The only time he sought the comfort of another was on nights he couldn’t bear to be alone. God, he was such a mess.

            Once they pulled up to Singer’s Auto Salvage, he stood off to the side while the men unloaded the car. He felt inclined to help, but knowing next to nothing about cars kept him standing off to the side and watching with that sinking feeling in his gut.

            “I’m guessing it will be about a week before we have her looking like a car again. The detailing might take a little longer,” Bobby informed him as he resituated the greasy ball cap on his head.

            “Of course, as long as it looks like new I don’t care how long it takes.”

            “Do you mind giving me your number? I’ll call you when I have the estimate done.”

            “Certainly.” Castiel wrote down his cell phone number on a ripped corner of the newspaper and watched as Bobby’ pocketed it.

            “Are you two going to stand there and chat all day or are you going to help me push this thing into the garage?” Dean demanded as he leaned over the rear bumper of the Porsche. Castiel’s eyes focused on the greasy rag he had in the back pocket of his ripped and dirty jeans. Just the rag…nothing else.

            “I’d be happy to help,” Castiel said.

            He didn’t know the first thing about cars, but he knew that he could certainly be of assistance while they pushed the car into the garage. He could do that.

            He picked the back of the car while Bobby reached in through the smashed window to steer the car. Together, grunting, swearing, and sweating the three of them managed to get the car in the garage.

            “Son of a bitch,” Bobby swore, stepping back from the car. He shook his hand a few times before inspecting it. Red blood dripped from the cut on the mechanic’s hand onto the cool cement floor.

            “You should go clean that out,” Dean told him.

            “No shit, genius.”

            With that, Castiel and Dean found themselves alone again.

            Castiel watched Dean in fascination as the man dug through various tool boxes along the wall. He studied the way he moved comfortably around the garage like he’d been there his entire life. Maybe he had? He didn’t know the details of Dean’s life.

            Dean turned around, a wrench in hand and pulled up short just mere inches away from Castiel. He dropped the hand holding the wrench to his side and stared down at the author with thick sand-colored lashes.

            From this close, Castiel could see the various hues of green that made up the man’s eyes. He could see each freckle and count the stubbly hairs on Dean’s chin. He studied Dean’s lips and swallowed, realizing that he’d been kissing those lips just the night before.

            “You…aren’t going to kiss me again, are you?” Dean asked, breaking the silence.

            He blinked, “N-No, of course not.”

            “Okay.” Dean’s eyes swept up and down Castiel before he cleared his throat and shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Do you mind giving me a little space.”

            “Yes, sorry.” Castiel felt his ears reddened as he moved out of Dean’s way, rubbing at the back of his neck while he found a place that he considered safe to stand. He’d kissed the man the night before and now he was getting caught staring. Dean was probably going to think he was going to stalk him or something.

            How had he even ended up standing so close to Dean in the first place? Hadn’t he been standing across the garage just moments before? He wasn’t sure, but he felt like an invisible string was pulling him towards Dean.

            The door across the garage opened and Bobby emerged with his cut hand wrapped in rag. “I’ll call you with the estimate, Castiel. Dean, why don’t you drive the man back to the motel where he’s staying?”

            “I was going to start working on this hunk of scrap.”

            “It wasn’t a request, boy. Get going. The sooner you get there, the sooner you’ll get back.”

 


End file.
